


Wait... You Can See Him Too?

by keykiyoshi7443



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anderson Is An Idiot, Gen, John is a Bit Not Good, Post-The Reichenbach Fall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 06:06:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6183619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keykiyoshi7443/pseuds/keykiyoshi7443
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You look awful with that mustache”<br/>“Oh shut up Sherlock, I happen to like it."<br/>“I really should just shave it off you while you sleep!”<br/>“Don’t be ridiculous Sherlock. You’re not real, you can’t do that.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wait... You Can See Him Too?

After Sherlock jumped, John had been devastated. He had redeveloped his psychosomatic limp, and he barely ate anymore. He felt completely horrible, he couldn’t understand it. Sherlock was just gone.

There was no one to wake him up at the ass crack of dawn, yelling about some case he was interested in. There was no one for him to harass into sleeping. His days were no longer filled with the excitement of a chase.

He spent his days working quietly as a doctor at a simple walk in clinic. Sometimes he worked shifts at the hospital if they were short on staff. It gave him a slight rush, but it was never good enough. He had come to greatly enjoy the adventures that Sherlock took him on.

He missed it. He missed him. He missed all the sarcastic biting comments that weren’t meant to be anything other than an observation. He missed the life that came with Sherlock. The flat was quiet now, there wasn’t any violin music at 3 A.M anymore.

But John found that he got even less sleep than before. What sleep he did get was plagued with nightmares of Sherlock’s last words. The heaviness that weighed him down only grew more and more in the echoes of the silent flat.

There wasn’t any gunshots and yells of boredom. The kitchen was clean, everything in its proper place. No failed experiments or body parts hidden amongst the eggs. No eyes in the microwave. No limbs in the bathtub.

There wasn’t any evidence that Sherlock had been there at all.

And then there was. John had been sipping his morning tea, everything was normal, quiet even. Then Sherlock came waltzing in yelling about something stupid that Anderson had done. John remembered that day.

He watched fondly as the memory flitted around the room, just ranting about the stupidity of human beings. How he had missed this. He should probably be worried that he was seeing things, but he was just glad to see Sherlock again.

Even if it was simply a memory, it made him feel better. Imaginary Sherlock only ever showed up at the flat, and never when there was anyone around. That’s how he knew he was imaginary. He didn’t really mind though. He still got to see Sherlock.

He was a bit happier now. Everyone noticed it, but most just assumed that he was getting over Sherlock’s loss. They couldn’t be farther from the truth, John had only gotten worse. The only thing that was getting him through the day was the fact that he could go home and see Sherlock.

Even if he was a fake Sherlock. His hallucinations began to get more detailed. He swears he and hear Sherlock opening and closing doors now. He’s begun to complain about how little John eats, an continuously pesters him until he has something to eat.

He pesters him about every little thing now. He is thoroughly annoyed with how clean the apartment is, and with how all of his things had been shoved into his old room. He believed that they were just fine where they were before.

John argued that he needed to be able to use the tables now that Sherlock wasn’t there. He had actual work to be done, work that required space to set things out. Sherlock also complained about his mustache. He insisted that he should shave it, claiming that it was absolutely hideous.

A very typical Sherlock insult. John kept the mustache just to spite him.

 

* * *

 

“You look awful with that mustache”

“Oh shut up Sherlock, I happen to like it.”

“I really should just shave it off you while you sleep!”

“Don’t be ridiculous Sherlock. You’re not real, you can’t do that.”

 

* * *

 

Despite the fact that Sherlock was back in his life - well at least when he was alone - John had quickly grown bored of his everyday life. He had been craving the adrenaline that came with working a case.

So he talked to Lestrade, and he managed to get a stable job with the detective inspector. He picked up where Sherlock left off, and became their new consulting detective. Though he preferred consulting doctor.

He’d often bring home pictures of the crime seat and mull over them with his imaginary Sherlock. He found that somewhere in his subconscious, he had a pretty good inner Sherlock. He was able to help out on a lot of cases.

Everything continued like that for a time. Imaginary Sherlock remained the same, John’s life was going places. Life was pretty good all things considered. But he still didn’t tell anyone about seeing Sherlock.

 

* * *

 

“I really can’t stand how organized everything is.”

“Shut up Sherlock, I could never find anything the way you kept things.”

“But _I_ could”

“Shut up”

 

* * *

 

The phone was ringing, very loudly. John groaned and rolled over in bed and groggily answered the phone. “Hello, this is John Watson.” he said sleepily. “John, I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time, but there’s been another murder. We need you at the local bakery. It’s about 2 blocks away from your flat.” he heard Lestrade say hurriedly.

He mentally groaned at all the extra work he’d have to do. It didn’t help that it was at 1 in the morning either. “I’ll be there in 10” he replied, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He threw on some clothes, they were the ones he had been planning on wearing the next day, but he didn’t think that he would get much more sleep anyway.

He was about to leave the flat when he heard Sherlock leave his room. “John, where are you going?” he asked. Oddly enough he was dressed. John knew well enough at this point to stop questioning his imagination.

“There’s been a murder, down at the bakery we used to go to” he told him simply. Sherlock’s eyebrows furrow in thought before he looks up at John determinedly. “I’d like to come with you.” he said finally. John shrugged and motioned for him to follow.

It’s not like anyone would actually be able to see him anyway. He had lost way too many arguments with his imaginary Sherlock about whether he existed or not. His imaginary Sherlock seemed pretty convinced that he was real, and if John would just give him a chance, he’d realize it too.

John on the other hand, didn’t want to be considered a raving lunatic.

They walked at a brisk pace towards the bakery and they made it there in no time. John simply waltzed in like he owned the place and he quickly found the scene of the murder. He knelt down beside the dead body and began to examine the evidence.

The room was oddly silent, and he moved to look at the other people in the room. Sherlock had gone to stand in the corner and Lestrade and Anderson were frozen in their positions, just staring at the corner where Sherlock stood.

“Is there anything wrong?” he asked them. Anderson seemed paralyzed with fear. “Sh-s-sh-sh-” he stuttered. John was not amused. “Spit it out Anderson” he said annoyed. Anderson pointed to the corner and said “Sherlock!” he yelled.

John rolled his eyes. “Of course it’s Sherlock, that’s all you seem to be saying now a days.” Then he realized where Anderson was pointing. He turned and looked at the corner where Sherlock stood smirking, like he’d just seen a car crash happen.

"Wait… you can see him too?”

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any questions, comments, or concerns, feel free to leave a comment down below!


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